


The Joy of Books

by silencedancer



Category: Read or Die - Hideyuki Kurata
Genre: Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silencedancer/pseuds/silencedancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a seemingly normal bookstore with a precious treasure inside it. It calls to Yomiko Readman and she goes in search of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joy of Books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hsifeng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hsifeng/gifts).



The smell of old paper and leather bindings called out to her and she could barely contain her excitement as she entered the used bookstore. Something special was there in that nondescript store with its peeling paint and wind-battered sign. Most people wouldn't suspect that the thing calling out to her was there, but she knew better than to judge a book by its cover...literally. She's read so many books, some with beautiful artwork on the cover, only to be disappointed that it failed to meet the expectations that the illustrations led her to expect. Then there were other books, beaten up with little on the cover other than its title, that moved her so much and gave her so much joy that she would cry at the beauty of it.

Over time, she came to know which books would bring her joy just by feeling their souls, requiring her to look at no covers. She could even tell if a manuscript would move her and those had no covers at all. If she wished, she could avoid all the books that promised wonders but did not deliver, but unfortunately, she could not deny even the most trashy novel its own chance to capture her heart.

(And she also had to admit that she did have a secret fondness for trashy romance novels of little literary merit and always kept a stack of them in her apartment.)

She wants to read _every book_ that has ever existed, even the ones who give her false promises with their covers. This is both Yomiko Readman's blessing and and her curse. Blessed to love the written word so much that she will love every book, but cursed to give even the poorly written ones a chance. Once she picks up a book, she knows that she will end up reading it sooner or later. The words on the paper call out to her because it is not the author or the subject or the size of the book that compels her. Instead, it is the words and the paper they are printed on themselves. The author or the subject may excite her even more, but it is the very book itself, its components, that call out to her heart and blood.

But back to the used bookstore that seems to be normal in every way with no remarkable qualities showing through the places where the paint had finally decided to abandon their posts around the windows, exposing the raw wood underneath to the elements. Inside, Yomiko walked through the bookstore, looking at the the dust that appears like fairy dust in the sunbeams that are coming. Another usual aspect of bookstores, Yomiko thinks, but it is one that she likes as much as the smell of old pages and leather.

Her eyes move over the bookshelves eagerly, hungry to explore the hidden treasures the place holds, especially the one calling out to her. She would cry out loud with joy, but she knows its not proper and besides, it might scare the other patrons. (This doesn't always stop her, but now she feels as if she's in a cathedral that holds a holy relic inside.) Breathing in the scents of this beautiful and sacred place, Yomiko starts to create a mental plan of where she should begin her quest for the most wonderful of books contained here.

She always starts with fiction, starting with the classics and then onto whatever her instincts take her to. Words of fiction are the ones that call out to her the most, especially those who move her heart to greater heights than anything else can take her. She moves her fingers just above the spines of the books that line the shelves, the bindings announcing to her the titles and authors of the books. She can just feel the power and magic that they all contain.

Even the books about the most dreary topics sing to her. The tragedies of Shakespeare where most die are beautiful to her despite the sorrow and darkness contained within them. What happens in the story is not what matters, but it is the words, the language, the way they feel on one's tongue when spoken out loud. She does not mind that books will, at times, cause her to cry. Crying is not a horrible thing to her when it comes to books. It means that the book succeeded in its mission to move the hearts and minds of the people who read it. Her favorite authors never, never failed to do so and she supposes that is why they are amongst her favorites.

The Brontë sisters ( _Jane Eyre_ , _Wuthering Heights_ , and a collection of their poetry), Charles Dickens ( _A Christmas Carol_ , _Great Expectations_ , _A Tale of Two Cities_ ), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ( _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ , _The Lost World_ ), Edgar Allan Poe (various collections of his works), Shakespeare ( _As You Like It_ , _Hamlet_ , _Macbeth_ , _Romeo and Juliet_ ) and more lived on these shelves, all waiting to be picked up, read, enjoyed and loved. Yomiko sighed happily as she looked at all these lovely books with so many various editions sitting there. They all wanted her to read them and she wanted to read them as well even if she's read the story in question a thousand times before. After all, one always, always finds something new in a text when you re-read them. At least that's how it is for Yomiko and she could not imagine it being any other way.

Such is the life for a bilbophile. Finding just sheer joy in books, in the words written painstakingly by so many people and read by so many more, is part and parcel of who she is and without it, she would not be Yomiko Readman. She could not conceive of being anything else. If she had not seen red blood running from her injuries from her work as The Paper, she would almost think that her blood would have turned to ink by now considering how much she loved these books, to be with these books.

Sighing happily, Yomiko almost forgot why she was there, in that normal looking bookstore that had something of a sacredness about it. She finally remembered the relic that she had come to look for in this secret holy land and even though she knew that it was here, she still did not know what she was looking for.

She knows that the author of the elusive book sits in front of her, but...the book isn't there. Maybe it once had been there and she was only feeling the ghost of a special book long gone or maybe it was hidden...a treasure that only she could find. But how to find it was the question...

Then her practiced eye saw the old, thin and forgotten book wedged between a thick book and the side of the bookshelf. She pulled it out very carefully and her eyes opened wide at the treasure she found. She never, ever, expected to find such a rare book...or for a bookstore owner to even miss how precious this book was to the history of literature.

Somehow, despite there supposedly being only twelve copies of this book existing in the entire world, Yomiko held in her hands _Tamerlane and Other Poems_ by Edgar Allan Poe. Maybe this book had magically hidden itself from everyone but the one person who would love it completely. Maybe she was dreaming, but if it was a dream, it was a wonderful dream indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that this story pleases you and while I was unable to incorporate chick lit in my story (I am not particularly familiar with it), I went for the classics instead, knowing that Yomiko loves almost everything that has been published, if not everything. Also, I hope the ending was not too implausible to you. Then again, Yomiko lives in a world where there many hidden rare books.


End file.
